


The Star To Every Wandering Bark

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Series: And By Opposing End Them [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: "You shouldn't live by your past.”Natasha nods.“I admit the principle, but it's hard in practice.”Steve smiles sadly, blue eyes seeming older than they have any right to be “Truer words..."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last part of this series, but it isn't complete because I haven't finished writing it (I just wanted to at least get some of it up within 2017, sorry) so it might be a while before it's *finished* finished (sorry). If you want to wait until the work is marked complete to read it, I won't hold that against you. Also I hope the Natasha/Sharon doesn't deter anyone? It's a ship I've kinda only recently been considering and I thought why not? Fanfic can always do with more wlw representation. It might contradict the subtle Clint/Nat I was also building (cos Clint/Nat is cute) but equally I like to think they could all work something out. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: the past Bucky/Nat happened when they were in the control of HYDRA/Red Room respectively, so although in a period of relative lucidity, not under the healthiest of circumstances. If you want to avoid discussion of it, skip from "I've had sex with your boyfriend" to "The path takes a turn"

Living in Wakanda is nice. Not terribly exciting, but not overly stressful either; just a warm kind of monotony. One that Steve could easily sink into, someday, he thinks. So long as Bucky sunk there with him.

“Drifting again?” Natasha asks with a soft touch to his shoulder.

He looks down, recalled to reality only at the sight of a half washed plate, coated in drying soap suds. He smiles ruefully. Apparently he’d fallen prey to a repetitive task once more.

“Nothing bad.” He assures her, trying his best to shut the conversation down fast. He understands his friends’ concern but they can be somewhat...overbearing. He glances at the clock.   
“You’re back early.”

Natasha shrugs, grabbing a tea towel to start drying “Decided to take it slow today.”

Steve grins, handing Natasha the plate “You're hoping to train with Sharon.”

She purses her lips “If she gets here early enough I’ll ask.”

It doesn't sound like a full reply.

“But?”

Natasha shakes her head “Later. Maybe.”

Steve nods “I'm here if you want me.”

They continue washing up, kitchen silent save for the odd bird call drifting in from the surrounding rainforest and the gentle splash of water. It's a kind of domesticity that Steve didn't realise he'd been missing, especially considering he's been entrenched so deeply in his head recently that he couldn't appreciate it. Now, though, he seems to be having a blissful spell of mental health; it's such a relief that he feels a small rush of exhilaration when he puts the final plate back in the cupboard.

“Where's Bucky?” Natasha asks as she loops the wet tea towel over the oven handle.

“Asleep.” Steve replies. He's mildly concerned about it, considering it's 9:30am and Bucky's usually up around eight, but he's not going to hover “When's Sharon coming?”

“Not until about five, if she isn't delayed.”

Steve nods, smiling slyly “Plenty of time to prepare, then.”

Natasha scowls “Prepare what?”

“Well, dinner, for one.” Steve replies, faux innocent “And what you're gonna do to woo her, for another.”

Natasha shakes her head vigorously; Steve simply laughs and ruffles her hair, something only he seems able to get away with. Today it earns him a light slap.

“I'm not going to woo Sharon.” she protests.

Steve leans against the counter, arms crossed “Show her your interest? Reveal a bit of the real you? Make it clear there's more to you than her badass superhero spy buddy?”

Natasha mirrors his position, eyebrow cocked “If it wasn't coming from you, that might sound sensible.”

“Me?” Steve gasps, hand to his chest. Natasha's eyes glitter.

“You confessed your love to your boyfriend in the middle of a conversation about suicide. And he wasn't even your boyfriend before that happened.”

“To be fair,” Steve says “Bucky did do it first.”

At the exact moment that Natasha snorts, Wanda enters looking both amused and confused.

“What is funny?”

Natasha smiles at her, which makes Steve smile too and Wanda in turn.

“Steve's romantic failure.”

He huffs, acting put upon to make Wanda laugh and concede “He has a happy relationship, now.”

Natasha nods “But so much pining.”

“So much.” Wanda agrees, which is rich considering he barely hinted at his desires to her in the first few months of their acquaintance.

The women turn to each other in unison, looking on the verge of creating a bullet point list of every incident of pining they’d observed. Steve hightails it out of there before they can, but not without turning to Natasha to say “Meet me at eleven, I have some ideas.” She looks exasperated but doesn't refuse.

Back in Steve's room, Bucky's stretched out on the bed awake.

“Hey.” Steve calls lightly.

Bucky stirs, blinking slowly at Steve as he approaches. He settles himself at Bucky's hip and takes his hand. Running his thumb gently over Bucky's knuckles, Steve asks “How’ ya’ doing?”

Sighing deeply, Bucky runs his metal hand up his face and through his greasy hair. Steve frowns; Bucky notices.

“‘M fine.” he says, voice slightly croaky “Don't worry. I'm fine. I’ll get up in a minute.”

Heart twisting, Steve fixes him with a look. “Bucky. Don't lie to me.”

He holds Steve's gaze for all of three seconds before he deflates. Steve runs his free hand soothingly down his leg.

“I'm not okay.” Bucky admits, “But I might be soon. At least in time for Sharon to come at-” Steve supplies the time; Bucky nods “At five, then. Should give me time to get my shit together.”

A shaft of light streams out of a gap in the curtains, glinting off the metal arm pillowed under Bucky's cheek. Vulnerable, and deadly. Suddenly Steve is doubly reluctant to leave.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

Burrowing slightly deeper into the cotton sheets, Bucky hums. Steve leaves him to think, eyes tracing the delicate shadows his eyelashes leave on sculpted cheeks. Eventually, Bucky says “No, I don't think it'll do much. Some days, sure, but not today.”

Steve seizes the opening “What is today? You don't have to say.”

Bucky shakes his head and only says, “Passing.”

Steve sighs “I’ll get going then. I'm going to take Natasha shopping, see if I can make her find her own style, help her chances with Sharon.”

Bucky snorts softly “Since when do you know anything about style?”

“I know things about style!” Steve protests “Just not my style.”

A soft look spreads over Bucky's face, and Steve's wondering what he's done to earn it when Bucky says “You're ridiculous. Go do your duty?”

“My duty?”

“As an artist, best friend, whatever.”

“I guess?” Steve says.

Bucky just shakes his head fondly “I love you. Now get gone.”

Steve goes in for a kiss; Bucky jerks away, and he recoils.

Somewhat sheepishly, Bucky offers “Later?”

“Okay.” Steve nods, and simply squeezes Bucky's hand instead, letting it go with a cheery “Love you!”

He gives Steve a wave as he leaves.

* * *

 

Natasha meets Steve as requested in the living room. She’d had a quick wash to remove the grime of training, but she's contemplating a full shower when he arrives. It seems like effort, though.

“Hey.” She greets him when he strides into the living room. It's a refreshing change to see him striding anywhere, but she'd have preferred he didn't do it in sandals that reveal his knobbly toes “What are we doing?”

“Shopping.” He replies with relish. Natasha nods. Retail therapy, she can get behind that.

“For you.” Steve continues.

“What?”

Steve nods with all the enthusiasm of a puppy “I'm going to help you find your style.”

For once in her life, Natasha is speechless. If she was on the internet, she'd say ‘Natasha.exe has stopped functioning’, and Clint would like the comment. But she isn't, so she settles for “Huh?”

Steve wilts “Or find you some new makeup? Go for a coffee?”

“But...why?” Natasha asks.

Blushing, Steve scratches his chin and says in a rush “I thought having some new clothes you felt more confident in might help you work up the nerve to talk to Sharon about your intentions?”

“Solid logic.” Natasha nods “There's more to it than that, though.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Steve says, taking her words as refusal “Shoulda asked first.”

“I mean, we can go.” Natasha hurries to add “And it might be fun. I don't mind shopping.”

She’s just...never really done it for her own enjoyment. The concept seems novel, an Other People thing that she only plays at, taking the excuse to select one disguise after another: feminine, butch, your wife, your mistress, your mum. Nothing for her. Nothing exposing her.

“If you feel uncomfortable-”

“No.” Natasha interrupts him “No, I want to try.” she grins “I’ve never had a personal stylist before.”

Steve grins back “And I've never been one.”

With that, they're off. It's a five mile trek down to the nearest shopping street, but they take the well worn paths so it isn't taxing. On one hand that's an advantage, if Natasha is going to be trying on clothes. On the other hand, it leaves no excuse not to answer Steve when he begins to ask leading questions. Even if they are posed in a way that leaves Natasha plenty of room to refuse.

“A heart-to-heart’s inevitable, right?” She asks, cutting off a question about what gender exactly she's most likely to be interested in.

Steve cringes “Maybe? I don't know. With Buck I always just sorta...confronted him until he told me what was up. And Sam you just need to ask. Wanda I tend to talk at and that seems okay, and Clint...doesn't really seem to want emotional support from me. I just don't know what to do about you.”

Natasha nods, processing. She knows for a fact Clint does consider Steve part of his emotional support, but mostly as a means of mood improvement. As for her…

“You're a good listener.” Natasha says.

Steve nods, taking the hint and giving her the metaphorical floor. Moments pass in which Natasha loses track of the bush around them and the trundle of a solar powered fruit cart further down the road, heartrate picking up as she attempts to work out the best way to air her feelings. In the end she settles for the most awkward fact first.

“I've had sex with your boyfriend.”

The effect is quite remarkable. Steve not only freezes, but does a whole 360 degree turn to enhance the effect of him staring at her in utter betrayal. It's funny until Natasha realises there's genuine hurt In his eyes.

“What?” she says.

“What?” Steve echoes in disbelief “You just tell me my boyfriend, my best friend, is cheating on me, with-”

“Shit! No!”

Steve's getting angry now and that is not what Natasha wanted “Don't you try to take that back-”

“It was in the eighties!”

He stills.

“We were on an assignment.” Natasha continues, “And it was a way to make our bodies feel like our own for a few minutes.”

She feels somewhat guilty for making Steve think he's been betrayed, but really? No sane person would ever think of it as a possibility, with the way Steve and Bucky act together. Like two extensions of the same machine.

Steve purses his lips “But they weren't. Your bodies, I mean. They weren't your own. Neither were your minds, especially his. Was he even there enough to know he had control of his consent?”

Natasha shakes her head “I didn't rape him- it was a long assignment, deep cover with minimal handler contact. His conditioning had started to fray and, well...we were both a friendly face and a warm body. Half the time he initiated it.”

“Okay, but look,” Steve replies, appeasing her but obviously trying to hide the fact that he's somewhat appalled “I'm struggling to see how it could be healthy for either of you. And I don't think that's my jealousy talking.”

“I never said it was healthy!” she snaps. A lapse, no doubt about that. But one that's acceptable with Steve, she reminds herself “But it happened. I haven't really talked about it with, well...anyone. It's just-” she trails off, frustrated with her inability to just talk.

As is becoming common, to her dismay, Steve swoops in to save her “That that's the extent of your relationships, and it didn't set a very good standard?”

“Yes.”

The path takes a turn and suddenly they're in the town. Unlike the city T’Challa’s main facility is on the outskirts of, there are virtually no high rises here, though that doesn't mean the buildings aren't cutting edge. Glass gleams in the sun and every other surface is coated in brightly coloured photosynthetic panels, some of which form murals depicting the town's vibrant history. At the centre is a market that's still full of people despite the heat of the midday sun, just as many wearing brightly coloured traditional dress as more western summer styles. It's to the market that they first head, weaving through the crowds with practiced ease. For the most part they're ignored. Some people, mostly younger ones, gawp at them, whispering about the Avengers. A few old isolationists give them dirty looks, which Natasha ignores pointedly.

Steve quickly spots a pair of cropped trousers he wants her to consider. As he’s holding them up against her, he says “You shouldn't live by your past.”

Natasha nods, running her hands down the material. It's high quality, tightly woven and built to last, not to be discarded next season. Plus, she’ll admit, the caramel and russet tones are quite appealing.

“I admit the principle, but it's hard in practice.”

He smiles sadly, blue eyes seeming older than they have any right to be “Truer words. You want them.”

“The trousers?”

“Yeah. You want them.” It's not a question.

Natasha submits, then puts up a valiant effort to stop Steve from paying. His rebuttals are so vigorous that the middle aged lady manning the stall eventually tells Natasha to accept it and move on. They do, and at a stall a few meters away she leafs through the tops hanging on the racks, pausing on one with a bright red and black geometric pattern.

“We can get it,” Steve hums “But just remember this isn't camouflage.

“You think they'll clash?”

Steve nods “But clashing can work, if you think you can pull it off…”

“I'll trust your judgement.” she says “But I'm still buying the shirt.”

Steve grins “That's the spirit.”

Over the next hour they buy three more things: a floaty white skirt to go with the geometric top, a surprisingly soft t-shirt made from a honey coloured plant matter woven like wicker, and a pair of comfortable but stylish flats made in rich local leather. Steve tries to make her agree to some sandals, but she refuses. Steve looks at her quizzically; she wags her finger jokingly “Now, now Stephen. We don't want to talk about private things.”

Steve snorts and they make their way inside a shopping centre where there is air conditioning, and liquid. Natasha buys Steve a cold concoction containing a ridiculous quantity of coffee in thanks for the day, and grins as he turns to her when he's finished, looking like he's just had the best sex of his life. He sticks his tongue out at her, and drags her into a makeup shop. The young sales assistant is unnecessarily friendly, even for a Wakandan - Natasha sees him glancing between them, two very pale white people, and the racks of foundations ranging from ‘Terracotta’ to ‘Charcoal’. He needn’t worry, because Steve bounds excitedly over to a display of technicoloured pigments and starts comparing them to the fabrics of the clothes they've bought, and Natasha's skin. She waits patiently for him to finish. Naturally, she’s been taught how to apply makeup- how, oh dear Society, could a woman not- but she's never really been creative with it. Steve, it seems, is determined to be. As blacks, blues, golds, and one very bright red tumble into their shopping basket, Natasha wonders what she's got herself in for.

Therapy, it transpires. As soon as they returned, Steve had whisked her into his bedroom and- after making sure both parties were entirely comfortable- set her up on the foot on the bed occupied by a lethargic Bucky Barnes. Now, she scrunches up her nose as Steve dusts yet more powder onto her eyes, stubbornly refusing to get out of her sight line to the mirror. Judging by the occasional considering noises issuing from behind her, she considers it a problem.

Sadly, Steve is not interested in sating Natasha’s curiosity.

  
“Keep your eyes closed.” he instructs; she sticks her tongue out “And explain why you don’t want to take things further with Sharon.”

“Bossy.” Bucky comments.

She agrees in so many words, but answers anyway “Because I have no idea how to be in a relationship.”

The brush pauses on her lid, and Natasha can almost feels the disapproval radiating from it as Steve says “And?”

  
She huffs “And, what? There’s no point.”

  
“How does that work?” Bucky asks “You don’t have any relationship experience, so there’s no point getting any? If that made sense nobody would ever get together and the human race would grind to a halt.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Steve presses.

  
Natasha crosses her arms, feeling her defensiveness rising “I have no relationship experience, but Sharon does.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bucky declares. Natasha is beginning to work out why Steve decided his bedroom would be the best location for an impromptu beauty salon “You should build your relationship to fit the two of you, not based on either of your past experiences with other people.”

“And if you don’t know where to start,” Steve adds, deep voice full of patient wisdom “if Sharon cares for you- and I know she does- she’ll guide you.”

Natasha shakes her head, chest tight. Steve paints a lovely picture but it’s not for her. It’s for other people. Better people. More normal people.

“If she can love me like that.”

Steve goes silent. When Natasha opens her eyes he’s standing in front of her, brush held loosely in one hand, inspecting her with a kind of tired shrewdness. After a moment, he carefully sets the brush down and gestures for Natasha to turn before settling himself on the bed so that all three of them are sat cross-legged in a triangle. Steve holds his hand out to Bucky, who takes it and begins to play with Steve’s fingers gently.

“She can love you like that.” Steve declares, quiet pitch belaying the underlying strength of a commander “I love you like a sister, and Clint loves you like whatever the hell Clint loves you like, and everyone else loves you as a friend, so don’t you dare try to suggest that no-one could love you romantically.”   
Natasha stares him down. The instinctual shuttering of her emotions is an almost visceral sensation- as much as it’s a coping mechanism, she wishes it would stop.

“I know it’s hard.” Steve continues. She believes him “And Bucky knows it’s hard. We’ve both had times of doubt, when we’ve questioned if we’re worth loving at all; we’ve both reassured each other that we are, and sometimes that works. But sometimes it doesn’t and in that case you have to trust the person you love, who’s standing in front of you saying they love you too. Trust that even if you don’t see in yourself what they see in you, their love is real and you have earned it. You deserve it.”

Bucky nods. His grip on Steve’s hand has tightened, and he’s looking at Natasha with an intensity that doesn’t fit their careful friendship but seems natural all the same “I’d walk through fire for Steve, but that’s not what makes our relationship work. It’s trusting that when he says he’d do the same, he means it. And knowing that he must have some pretty good reasons, even if I can’t for the life of me work them out, because this is Steve. If I’ve done enough good in my life to earn the love and respect of a man like him, then you sure as hell have earned exactly the same from whoever you choose to give it to you.”

To her horror, Natasha feels tears pricking at her eyes. She squeezes them shut firmly. No need to ruin Steve's handiwork.

“Do you need a moment?” Steve asks awkwardly.

Natasha nods once, and stumbles out of the room.

* * *

 

“That was intense.” Bucky comments as Natasha's clumsy footfalls fade into the distance.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. He slumps against Bucky, and is gratified to feel the steady weight of his arm curl around his shoulders “Thanks for helping.”

“Least I can do.” Bucky shrugs, as if all he’d done was lend a hand putting up a shelf, not air his deepest insecurities to someone Steve knew he was only just coming to trust.

Steve cranes up to give Bucky a soft, closed mouth kiss “You’re brilliant. What do you need from me?”

“Nothing.” Bucky mutters, cheeks slightly pink from Steve's praise “Or just…”

“Whatever you need.” Steve promises easily, already working out if there are any parts of the preparation for dinner he can take into their little sanctuary in his room.

Bucky tilts his head, nuzzling at Steve's hair.

“You mean that, don't you?” He asks softly. Wonderingly.

Steve shifts back, sitting upright enough to meet Bucky's eyes “Mean what?”

“‘Whatever you need.’” Bucky repeats.

Steve smooths his hand up Bucky's throat, something which amazingly enough he lets him do “Of course I mean it. I love you.”

The pulse under Steve's hand jumps slightly, as if Bucky's still a little surprised to hear it, after all the times it's been repeated in the past few months. Steve can relate.

Bucky's lips don't smile, but his eyes do as he says- a touch incredulously, as if he can’t believe such a thing of himself- “I sorta adore you, Rogers. I'm glad it's Natasha that's interested in Sharon, and not you. I just about died of jealousy when you kissed her.”

I'm so sorry Steve could say. Would've said, not so long ago. But he's nearly finished a course of therapy and he's charged with enough excitement that he can- for that day, for those few hours at least- tell himself to hold his tongue and perish the thought, to practice what he preaches and construct a new cognition around the indisputable fact that he is loved. He is loved.

“Well you're saved,” Steve laughs, eyes crinkling with his most whole-hearted smile in a while “Because I sorta adore you a hell of a lot too, Barnes.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve finds Natasha again in the laundry room. She's not cleaning, just trailing her hands thoughtfully through the stream that runs down the centre. Of all the mod cons in their tropical retreat, Steve thinks the laundry stream is the coolest. Not only does it simplify the plumbing but it blends the boundaries between indoors and out, melding commodity with co-existence in the way Wakandans seem to excel, doing so safely thanks to many low waste filters and a supply of bio-friendly detergents that his mother would be deeply suspicious of. 

“Pretty cool, huh.” Steve says, orator that he is.

“Arctic.” Natasha agrees, because she's just as much of a dork as Steve.

He crouches down next to her, trying to get a close look at her to gauge her emotional state without  _ seeming  _ like he is. Sharp eyes flick to him and he knows he's been made; Natasha raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I wasn't going to say anything.” He says “But now you’ve brought it up…”

Natasha cuts him off “I’ll cut the veg.”

Steve's protective instincts are telling him to push the issue, but he reigns them in. Natasha doesn't respond well to being pushed.

“Try using a knife this time.” He quips, getting up.

“Of course I'm gonna use a knife.” She scoffs.

“Last time you used a peeler to cut an onion.” Steve points out.

“All the knives were dirty.”

“You left the  _ skin  _ on.”

Natasha punches him on the shoulder as she passes him on the way to the kitchen. Steve follows, smiling quietly to himself as he goes. He's not planning to make anything fancy, just a stew, but he's excited to try adding a few new spices and- so Bucky and Sam say from their experiences in the Depression and Bucky hunting respectively- he’s a dab hand at making simple ingredients taste fabulous. Soon enough the meat and vegetables are simmering happily in the pot on a low heat and Steve's enlisted Sam to help with the desserts: a trifle and a chocolate torte. As they chop and whip and fold, the rest of the house gather in the kitchen to watch and steal bits of the food. It reminds Steve fondly of the Barnes family around 1925, when the economy was still good and the girls hadn't started arguing with their parents yet. The thought isn't without sadness, but he's not the man he was a few years ago; it doesn't consume him.

Soon enough the clock ticks over to five and the doorbell rings. Sam ducks around the kitchen door to peer into the porch and announces it's Sharon. Natasha immediately and unsubtly perks up in a way that's a little bit adorable, but Steve shoos her towards her bedroom to change. In the time it takes for Sam to open up the door and for Sharon to go through the requisite rounds of hugs and kisses, Natasha emerges looking like a street casual dream. Her shoulder are relaxed, stance loose in the flowy skirt, figure obscured but looking no less fierce for the disarmament. Steve had gone with a bold eye, almost Instagram-like in proportions but in tune with her natural look- a sharp smear of ice and fire. Steve shifts his gaze eagerly to Sharon, who doesn't disappoint. She's gobsmacked and trying to hide it, mouth  slightly open, eyes roving over Natasha in wonder. One of her hands is still clasped around Steve’s neck from kissing him on the cheek, so he gently disengages himself and makes a quiet exit, gesturing for the others to follow. Neither woman notices them go.

* * *

“Hi.” Sharon says, admittedly a little breathily.

“Hi.” Natasha repeats, teasing.

Sharon giggles awkwardly, running her hands down her thighs. The feeling zinging through her veins is exactly like the first time she met Steve when posing as his neighbour, only ten times magnified because Natasha isn't just a man she’d grown up admiring that happens to be cute and friendly, she's a woman who Sharon grew from treating as a stranger to trusting with her life and more. And she's  _ radiant,  _ not because her clothes look different- she’s seen Natasha wearing all manner of things- but because she's  _ owning  _ them, channelling through them a confidence and self-assurance that Sharon can tell goes beyond her belief in her competence with weapons.

And her eyeshadow is killer, though Sharon dreads to think how much product is on her skin.

“Did you do that?” 

“What, the eyes?” Natasha laughs, voice seeming a touch higher than usual “Steve.”

Nodding too vigorously, Sharon says “It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Natasha looks up suddenly, shoving her chin back like she's going into battle. Why is Sharon attracted to so many people who are ready to fight God in a Denny’s parking lot? Is it because she is too? “He did it, and the clothes and...other stuff, so I could work up the confidence to ask you out.”

Sharon blinks.

“So will you?”

“Yes.” she says automatically “How long have you been into women?”

“Forever.” Natasha shrugs.

“Dammit.” Sharon laughs, and the moment is over. Later Sharon will wonder how something so momentous can pass in such a flash, but for now she’s distracted by the smell of food.

“C’mon.” she offers, holding her hand out for Natasha to take “I'll take you out-” Natasha cocks an eyebrow “ on a  _ date-”  _ Sharon clarifies “somewhere more private later on. For now, let's gorge ourselves on Steve’s cooking.”

“Agreed.” Natasha nods, before promptly reeling Sharon in for a kiss. It's forward, a lot more so than the coy games she's seen Natasha play in the field, but somehow distinctly  _ her.  _ And it is  _ doing  _ things to Sharon that she hasn't felt in quite some time.

“Soon.” Sharon adds breathlessly, trailing her hands through Natasha’s frizzing hair.

“Soon.” she agrees. With that, she spins around and saunters into the kitchen like the cat that got the cream. And  _ boy _ , she has.

Sharon is helpless but to follow.

* * *

The last thing Bucky remembers is drifting asleep with his head on Steve’s lap to the low sound of amiable chatter, belly full of hearty food and heart full of love. Now, he wakes up to a palpable tenseness centred on two new additions to the party: T’Challa and Shuri. Both are dressed half in combat gear, eyes grave, but Shuri manages to give Bucky a smile which he returns. How he didn't notice them entering in the first place he doesn't know, especially given how tense he was that morning, but judging by the expectation on everyone's faces, they can't have been here for long. Squeezing Steve's thigh on the way up, Bucky rights himself and T’Challa takes the cue to begin.

“There has been an insurrection. The geopolitical tensions that were explained to you on your arrival have ruptured, and now is the time to act in order to prevent greater destruction. I, and Wakanda, need your help. However,” T’Challa hesitates, stately tone tripping into something warmer and tinged with regret “I am afraid, should you agree, your location will be confirmed in official intelligence and you will have to leave this asylum.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. A part of him is annoyed that  the news is coming as such a surprise, that it's even affecting him. A larger part understands why- their leave in Wakanda hasn't  been anything like an exile. It’s been a reprise. He turns to Steve. He looks grim, but determined, and the harder Bucky looks the more he starts to see something suspiciously like excitement peeking past the shadows in his eyes. Steve meets his gaze, lips quirked.

“No rest for the wicked, eh?”

“You could say that.” Bucky jokes back. But the second Steve turns back to tell T’Challa they're in- because even when they're not Avengers anymore, Steve’s a leader- Bucky’s frowning.

It’s not that he doesn't trust Steve to look after the team; he knows with absolute certainty that if Steve thinks he's likely to be a liability, he will work his plans around it. It’s that Bucky’s finding it hard to convince himself this will end well for Steve himself.

When T’Challa’s briefing has finished, Bucky follows Steve into his room.

“Steve.” He says.

“Bucky.” Steve replies, gathering his body armour “You should get ready.”

“I will.” he says, refusing to be deflected “Just- Look- I-” Steve stills, sensing the mounting distress behind Bucky’s stuttering words; he continues doggedly, something akin to panic quickening his pace “You've been making so much progress, I know, but... Tell me you're gonna be okay. Tell me and  _ mean  _ it, Steve. I need you.”

For a millisecond his boyfriend looks simply distraught. Then his strong features set in determination and he advances, warm hands enveloping Bucky’s. He slumps against Steve, nose buried in the cotton of his shirt. Steve hooks his chin, as sharp as ever, over Bucky’s shoulder.

“I'm gonna be okay.” He says, voice slow and melodic “I know I haven't been in the right headspace recently, but I  _ am  _ getting better. And this is what I do. This is what I've  _ always  _ done. You know that-” he does, always has; Steve's never been anything but a freedom fighter through and through “-So I'm fairly sure I'm gonna be okay, and you can ask Dianne if you want a second opinion.” Bucky nods against Steve’s chest; he might text her. That is, if she’s in a position to respond “Question is, Buck, are you?”

“Gonna be okay? No idea.” he answers honestly “But I'll get through this.Might set me back a bit-”

“Might set us both back a bit.”

“- but we can do it.”

Bucky sighs. Somehow, the declaration helps.

Steve snorts “Well, that was easy.”

“Shut up.” Bucky laughs. He sobers up quickly, moving his hands to cradle Steve's head. It's ridiculous that a human being can mean so much to him, and yet... “Don't scare me like you did in that flat. Don't make me watch you die. You know I've got your back, but you've got to promise me...have your own. You're worth protecting.”  

Steve frowns, but nods “I know. I know that now.” he amends, slightly ruefully “I don't want to die, Buck. Not today, or tomorrow, or the day after that, or...well, I couldn't tell you about next month. But you won't get rid of me anytime soon, Buck, I promise. I'm sticking around.”  

“Good.” Sharon says from the doorway.

“But hurry up.” Natasha, who is standing next to Sharon hip to hip, adds.

Steve nods, zipping up his bag. Reluctantly, Bucky leaves to grab the few items of his that haven't migrated into Steve's room and become  _ theirs. _ As he does so, he notices Steve's journal of drawings tucked under a mystery novel Bucky had borrowed from Wanda. He picks the two up, dropping the novel off to Wanda as he makes his way to the main room. There, the former Avengers stand in a loose circle, all equally anxious and determined. Bucky takes up his place next to Steve and slips the journal into Steve's pocket. Seconds later, Wanda emerges to complete the group.

They’re all damaged, Bucky thinks as he surveys them, but they’ll get through. Together, as Steve is wont to say.

With a strength Bucky knows is painfully finite, Steve meets T’Challa’s eyes and nods.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW. DO. YOU. WRITE. EMOTIONS???? 
> 
> OR ENDINGS???
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> Sorry this took forever, and thank you if you've managed to keep reading to the end! I hope this ties up the loose ends and produces the sense of things improving but not magically healing completely that I was going for, and that it meets any expectations you might have. If you're wondering what happened to Dianne, she's okay and probably being a badass non-combatant helper! I tried my best to work out a way to fit her in but none of the transitions I could think of felt natural so in the end I could only work in a reference. 
> 
> Remember that if you're struggling with mental health issues of any kind there are many ways to get support in person and via online/telephone/ text services. Take care of yourself!


End file.
